


pull your little arrows out

by ohmcgee



Series: little beasts [30]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Blood Play, Knife Play, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-27 00:07:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6261271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He shows Roy the needle and the ink and Roy’s too fucked out and too high and Tim’s too naked for him to think it’s anything but a fucking awesome idea. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	pull your little arrows out

**Author's Note:**

> pre Tim/Jason and Tim teaming up with Bruce and the boys, obvs.

The first year they meet Roy takes Tim on a couple of jobs with him, shows him how to pick locks, how to open a safe with a glass of water and a lot of patience. The first time they break into somebody’s house together, Roy gets cocky and fucks up. The owner’s still there and he gets off a lucky shot, clips Roy in the shoulder with his stupid fucking pea shooter and it hurts like a son of a bitch, but Roy just grabs his shoulder and grins, watches Tim come up behind the guy and slide his blade across his throat, wipe the blood on his jeans and push the body to the ground. 

“I thought you said you were good,” Tim says, staring at the dark stain seeping through Roy’s shirt. 

“Yeah, fuck you,” Roy says. “Go get the fucking kit and stitch me up.”

 

: : :

 

One of the first thing Roy notices about Tim is that he’s good with a needle, good with his _hands._ It shouldn’t surprise him, kid treats his knife like it’s an extension of his body and when he holds a gun, his hands never shake. 

When he stitches Roy up, it’s always with precision. The stitches are always straight and even and it’s the most gentle Roy ever sees him. Tim’s got soft hands for a killer and his nails are always so pretty and clean Roy’s pretty sure he fucks off sometimes just to get a manicure. 

“You should learn to do this yourself,” Tim says, clipping the thread when he’s done. “I’m not always around.”

“Better stick around then’,” Roy says, twisting his fingers into Tim’s belt loops and pulling him in his lap. It twinges, but he’s got enough Vicodin in him right now getting hit by a fucking eighteen wheeler would tickle. 

“Not your fucking nurse,” Tim says, bucking into Roy’s hand when Roy gets his jeans open, gets his hand around his dick and starts jerking him off, hard and fast, the way that gets Tim gasping Roy’s name against his throat. 

When Tim comes, he squeezes the bandage on Roy’s shoulder and Roy yells and swears. 

Tim just grins and slides off of him, slips down on the floor between Roy’s legs and gets his pants open. “Stop getting shot,” he says. “And you won’t need me.”

“Not gonna happen,” Roy laughs when Tim swallows him down, glad of the fact that Tim’s mouth is too full to ask him which one he meant. 

 

: : :

 

He was fine before Tim. He’s fine _now._ It’s just --

It’s just when the little fucker disappears, Roy kind of forgets what he used to do. He steals and takes jobs and he eats pills like Tim eats Red Hots and green olives, but it doesn’t have that same kick to it when he’s by himself anymore. He misses those cold killer eyes and Tim’s mouth around his cock, misses watching him melt into the couch, boneless, after they smoke a bowl, misses the sounds he makes when Roy fucks him into the floor, when he gets him to come on his cock and nothing else.

When Tim disappears next time, Roy packs his shit up . Moves to another shit hole town right outside Gotham, somewhere Tim’s never been. Roy doesn’t like needing people. He doesn’t like that he thinks about Tim more than he thinks about money anymore. People fuck him up, always have. That’s why he works alone, stays on the move. 

The next time Tim disappears, Roy disappears too. 

 

: : :

 

For five months, Roy doesn’t see him. He takes jobs in and out of the country, gets paid, spends it all on blow and pills and everything else that fucks him up but in the _good_ way, and stays far away from Gotham. Fucks around with Dick and Kori every now and then, but those two are like a wildstorm when they’re together and Roy just doesn’t get the fire thing. He hooks up with Jade a few times until she fucks up and gets grabbed again and besides, that chick is too crazy even for him. 

It’s when he’s working a job in Jersey for some anonymous client that he runs into Tim, almost literally. Seems like the asshole who hired him double booked and they’re both trying to sneak into this bastard’s house to take him out. 

Roy puts his finger over his mouth and Tim rolls his eyes, pushes him to the side and starts making his way upstairs. 

Tim makes it quick and clean, which is totally unlike him, then turns to Roy, blood still dripping from his knife. “You moved.”

“You killed my mark,” Roy says. 

“My mark,” Tim emphasizes. He wipes his knife on his jeans, walks up to Roy and slides the tip of it down Roy’s shirt, cutting it off of him. 

Roy grabs Tim’s face after the first slice over his pec, fucks his tongue into his mouth and lets Tim manhandle him down onto the floor, lets Tim climb on top of him and drag the blade over his chest, down his ribs, groans and swears when Tim drops his head and licks the blood from his skin. 

“Take me --” Tim starts, pauses. “Take me back to your place.”

Roy doesn’t even think twice about it. They drive for two hours, Tim mostly sleeping the whole way, and when they finally get there Tim walks to his bedroom and starts stripping, like he already knows the layout of the place, like he’s always been here. 

“What the fuck are you waiting for,” he says with his hand on his cock and Roy pushes him onto his stomach, opens him up with three fingers and fucks him with them until Tim comes all over his hand, then pushes his cock into him and makes him scream for it. Tim doesn’t beg -- not with words, but he damn sure begs with his body, fucking himself back on Roy’s cock like he wants it so deep he can taste it in the back of his throat, grabs Roy’s hands and presses Roy’s fingers into his hips, reaches back and yanks at his hair. When Roy comes inside of him he bites Tim’s shoulder until the skin breaks, wonders if he’ll still be able to see the marks there the next time Tim decides to come around. 

They lay their for about half an hour before Tim says, “Stay still,” and gets up, not bothering to put on any clothes before he walks back out into the living room. 

Roy packs a bowl while he waits for him to come back, raises his eyebrow when Tim walks back in the room with some kind of case. 

“I found this,” he says, which of course translates to _I stole this_ immediately in Roy’s head. “Let me?”

He shows Roy the needle and the ink and Roy’s too fucked out and too high and Tim’s too naked for him to think it’s anything but a fucking awesome idea. 

And it totally fucking is. Roy’s dick starts to get hard again as soon as Tim sterilizes the needle, moans like the shameless pain whore he is when Tim pricks his skin with it. It fucking hurts, not like a regular tattoo gun. This pain is slower, almost deeper, and of course Tim takes his fucking time with it. He’s still just as naked as he was when Roy was balls deep inside of him and he’s getting off on it so much his dick is fucking leaking everywhere, making Roy’s mouth water. 

Between the weed and the delicious pain of the needle and Tim’s intense fucking eyes on him, Roy starts to drift into that awesome place he goes to when he gets a really big piece done. He loses track of time, just sort of turns into this boneless, shapeless blob, warm and soft and --

“Do me,” Tim says when he’s done and Roy just nods, slowly coming out of it, eyes raking over all that skin, trying to decide the perfect place as Tim readies another needle. 

“What do you want?” Roy asks when Tim lays out on his belly, sliding his hand up the back of Tim’s thigh, over the curve of his ass, and squeezing. 

Tim shrugs his shoulders. “Whatever.”

Roy laughs and shakes his head. He still doesn’t know what Tim put on _him._

“Okay,” Roy says and gets some ink on the needle, starts doing the first thing that comes to mind.

“That’s my _ass_ ,” Tim says and Roy giggles and tells him to be still or he’ll fuck it up. 

When he’s done, he leans down and gives it a little kiss, spreads some of the ointment Tim put on him over it, then gets up to look at his in the mirror. Maybe he’s too fucking high, but it doesn’t make any sense. Just some random numbers and letters on his hip, but it doesn’t matter. 

“Stop staring at yourself,” Tim says and when Roy gets back on the bed, Tim pushes him onto his back and sits on his cock, digs his nails into Roy’s chest as he rides him and all Roy can do is fucking hang on, wrap his hands around Tim’s bony hips and just _watch._

When he comes this time Tim screams his name and Roy’s pretty sure the sound of that is going to stick with him longer than the shitty tattoo on his hip. 

 

: : :

 

“Took you long enough,” Tim says to him six month later, when Roy finally translates the coded coordinates Tim inked into his skin. 

It led him to a loft in the city. There’s books scattered throughout, some on the coffee table, some on the kitchen counter, a coffee ring on the end table next to the couch. Tim’s boots are in the middle of the room and there’s a couple of paintings on the walls that Roy’s pretty sure used to hang in museums. It’s not a safe house. He’s not squatting. Tim’s --

This is his place. This is --

“Yeah well,” Roy says, still looking around. “Haven’t been shot lately, so I didn’t need you.”

“Liar,” Tim says. 

Roy doesn’t argue.


End file.
